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User blog:Squibstress/A Slant-Told Tale - Chapter 45
Title: A Slant-Told Tale Author: Squibstress Rating: MA Genre: Drama, romance Warning/s: Explicit sexual content; violence; abuse; alcoholism Published: 06/11/2017 Disclaimer: All characters, settings and other elements from the Harry Potter franchise belong to J. K. Rowling. Chapter 45 4 July 1997 “Alastor.” Malcolm pulled Alastor into a tight embrace and held him there for a few moments before releasing him. “How’s she holding up?” “You know yer mum. Working too hard and won’t let anyone know how she’s feeling, but I think she’s managing.” In truth, Alastor was worried about her. Since Dumbledore’s death—since he’d been murdered by that fecking traitorous snake—he’d not seen her shed a tear. In fact, he’d barely seen her after that madness five nights ago when her Patronus had summoned him with the unbelievable news. After the chaos had died down, he’d wanted to stay with her, but she wouldn’t hear of it. “It wouldn’t be prudent,” she’d said. “Hogwarts will be crawling with Aurors, governors, reporters, and Merlin knows who else for the foreseeable future.” “Bugger the governors and everyone else,” he’d growled, but she’d grasped him again and held him hard against her. She whispered in his ear, “Let me get through the funeral. Then come. I’ll need you.” He didn’t argue. She was doing her pillar-of-strength act, he knew, but he also knew she needed it. And he was willing to let it be, as long as she knew she could lean on him afterward, after she’d comforted every student, reassured every teacher, cossetted every governor, and chivvied every Ministry official into doing what they should’ve been doing for the past year to face the mounting danger. They’d held each other for a few stolen minutes in Dumbledore’s office—now hers, he supposed—and he’d gone, throwing himself into the search for Snape. He’d seen Minerva during the hurried, panicky Order meetings they’d had in the ensuing days, but they’d hardly spoken privately. When he’d shown up in her quarters early that morning with his trunk, he’d been ready for an argument, but she’d merely sighed and asked him to use his invisibility cloak when entering or leaving her personal quarters, for propriety’s sake. He’d spent most of the rest of the day inspecting the security arrangements. He was haranguing Gawain Robards about setting a couple of Aurors to guard the Whomping Willow when Elgar popped in to tell him Minerva had received an owl from Malcolm about his family’s planned arrival in the late afternoon. At 4:30, Alastor went to the Hogwarts gates and found Malcolm in a heated conversation with one of the Aurors there. Alastor pulled the Auror aside and showed him the special pass Robards had scribbled for him to give to Malcolm. “Thanks for meeting us,” Malcolm said after the group had been admitted to the grounds and they’d exchanged their greetings. “I don’t think those Aurors would’ve let us in if you hadn’t been there.” “You’d better believe security’s tight around here,” Alastor said. “No Apparating to within a mile of the gates, and absolutely no one gets in who hasn’t been cleared ahead of time. So everyone who’s going to the funeral has to get here early, and most of them came today and are stayin’ in the castle. I got yer clearances expedited with MLE. Still got a little pull there, anyway.” “Thanks.” “I’m glad you’re here. It’ll be a comfort to Minerva.” “I hope so.” “Alastor,” Eliane said, stepping forward and squeezing his free hand. “Good to see you, dear, circumstances notwithstanding. You look even younger than the last time I saw you. Himself givin’ you an anti-aging potion?” Alastor said with a nod toward Malcolm. Eliane smiled and kissed him on each cheek. “And you three,” Alastor said, turning his attention to the children and ruffling Maximilien’s sandy hair, “a scruffier pack of pixies I’ve never seen. Don’t yer mum and dad take care of you?” “No, Uncle Alastor. Papa doesn’t even feed us most of the days,” Rosemonde answered with a cheeky grin. “I suspected as much,” Alastor said. He grasped Hélenè by the waist and lifted her high in the air with his free hand and the assistance of a light Levitating charm. “You’re practically floating away, lass!” The child answered with a fit of giggles. He set her down and spoke to Malcolm and Eliane. “Minerva’s sorry she couldn’t give you one of the guest rooms. Full of dignitaries, apparently,” he said, sniffing his disdain. “You’re bunking in with the Weasley family in one of the empty classrooms.” “Those are the red-headed ones, yes?” Eliane asked. “Right. But don’t worry. Molly’ll keep everyone in line.” “Oh, I am not worried. In fact, I think Rosemonde is very ’appy. At our last visit, she was quite impressed by one of those twins, which one was it, ma petite?” “Maman!” the girl cried, reddening. “It was Fred,” Maximilien said. “Tais-toi!” Rosemond punched her brother on the shoulder. “Assez, assez,” their mother admonished. “C’est une occasion solennelle. Please remember that we are ’ere to mourn your Uncle Albus.” The children sobered at that, and the little group walked on up the path to the castle, Malcolm Levitating their bags ahead of them. Once Malcolm and his family were comfortably installed in an old classroom that had once been used for alchemy classes and was now fitted with camp beds and a large partition that was presumably to separate Malcolm’s family from the Weasleys, Alastor took them to Minerva’s quarters, where they shared a brief but happy reunion with Elgar. They were in the sitting room, enjoying the tea and scones with lemon curd the elf had insisted on bringing them, when the door opened to reveal a haggard-looking Minerva. Malcolm went immediately to her and folded her in a tight embrace. “Mum. I’m so, so sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry too. Thank you for coming. I know it’s difficult getting here.” “Of course we came.” Minerva released him and looked eagerly over to the table at the rest of the family. Rosemonde met her halfway across the floor and hugged her. Max and Hélène followed suit. Alastor found himself tearing up at the sight of Minerva surrounded by her grandchildren. “Grand-mère, ’ow are you?” Rosemonde asked. At fifteen, she sounded very grown up to Alastor in her concern for her grandmother. “I’m fine—much better now that you’re all here,” Minerva said, looking around, eyes glittering. “Have you settled into your room? Are you comfortable?” “Very comfortable, thank you for arranging it,” said Eliane. She and Minerva exchanged a double cheek-kiss. Afraid she’d try to flit away to attend to more of her relentless duties, Alastor said, “We’re just having some tea. Sit down for a few minutes and join us.” She looked torn, but after a moment’s hesitation, she sat. Alastor knew Malcolm was itching to talk about the circumstances surrounding Dumbledore’s death, but with the children there, they couldn’t say much, so Malcolm asked his mother about the arrangements and who would be attending tomorrow’s funeral service. She told him, then changed the subject abruptly, asking the children about their studies. The worry lines that deeply etched her forehead seemed to relax a little as Rosemonde chattered to her in a mixture of English and French about her Transfiguration lessons. From what Alastor could gather, Rose was a bit of a prodigy and was getting additional lessons from the Beauxbatons Transfiguration master, Alphard Bienbon. Rosemonde resembled her grandmother in other ways. Her hair was darker than Malcolm’s, and she had Minerva’s high cheekbones and thin lips. Alastor thought that, for Minerva, it must be like looking in a slightly fuzzy mirror. “Professeur Bienbon thinks I could become an Animagus,” Rosemonde told her grandmother. “But Maman et Papa think it is too soon to start.” “I agree with them,” said Minerva. “But you were only sixteen when you began!” “No, I was nineteen and had completed school before I started my Animagus studies,” Minerva corrected. At Rosemonde’s dejected look, Minerva added, “But you may have some of my books on Animagus theory to read while you’re waiting.” “That’s very generous, Minerva,” Eliane said. “Not at all. And once you are ready,” Minerva said to her granddaughter, “with your mother and father’s permission, I would be delighted to help you.” “Thank you, Grand-mère,” Rosemonde said. “I look forward to it.” “So do I,” Minerva said. A pained, wistful look clouded her features, but she quickly hid it with a warm smile at Rosemonde. It hurt Alastor’s heart. Looking forward to a time when they could all worry about normal things like Transfiguration lessons and family gatherings felt as futile as trying to conjure love, what with Dumbledore encased in his shroud and Death Eaters around every corner. And under our noses, Alastor thought, his mind turning back to one Severus Snape. There was no comfort in having been right about him all along. It felt wrong to Alastor, the way everything had unfolded. The curse to Dumbeldore’s hand had already been killing him—presumably Snape had told his lord and master all about it. So why send a bunch of Death Eaters into the school? There was no sense to it. Even if that motley crew had managed to fight off the staff and take over Hogwarts, how were they going to hold it when the Ministry was still, however tenuously, under the control of the Light? Snape could’ve sat out the Battle of the Astronomy Tower, as the Prophet had taken to calling it, and remained in the bosom of the Order, spying for Voldemort, at least until the Ministry fell. Killing Dumbledore had, in fact, rendered Snape less valuable, now that he had to go into hiding. The so-called Dark Lord was a mad bastard, but he wasn’t stupid. He wouldn’t have outed his prize spy just to kill Albus. Not when Snape had already arranged a much less public murder—or at least hadn’t prevented a premature death—for Dumbledore, and Alastor didn’t judge Snape a man who felt he had things to prove to his fellow Death Eaters. A slimy snake, always hissing in Dumbledore’s ear, that’s what he was. Now the snake was no more useful than a lapdog, and the question burning up Alastor’s brain was, why? His attention snapped back to Minerva, who had stood, saying she had to get back to work. “Will we see you at dinner?” Malcolm asked. “Probably not.” “And when are you going to eat?” Alastor asked her. “Elgar will make sure I get something in my office.” Alastor made a mental note to speak to the elf to make sure of it. They all said their goodbyes, and Minerva bustled off to her next chore. The remaining group stayed in Minerva’s sitting room for another half hour, talking around the subject most on everyone’s mind. When little Hélène yawned, Eliane rounded up the children and took them to their makeshift quarters for “a rest and a wash” before dinner. Malcolm remained. Alastor heated the teapot with his wand and poured out two more cups “Mind if I add a little something to mine?” Malcolm asked. “Fine by me.” Malcolm went to the small drinks cabinet, picked out a bottle of whisky, and added a dram to his teacup. “Yer mother would have yer head if she saw you puttin’ her Cardhu into yer tea,” Alastor said. Malcolm chuckled. “Have they found Snape yet?” he asked. “No. He’s gone to ground with his master.” “Mum was so certain he was on our side.” “Yer mum tries to see the best in everyone,” Alastor said. “And she believed Dumbledore when he said Snape was all right.” Malcolm set his teacup down on the table, sloshing some of it over the rim. “How did he fool us all so completely?” Alastor didn’t say that Snape hadn’t fooled him. “He spent a lot of years working for Dumbledore, pretending to spy for him. Some of the intel he gave us seemed good. Probably was good. I don’t reckon he minded givin’ up one or two of his Death Eater pals to the Order so he could stay in Dumbledore’s good graces.” There was a silence as the two men sipped their tea. “Are you going to lead the Order now?” Malcolm asked. At the meetings after Dumbledore’s death, everyone had looked to Alastor for direction, which disconcerted him. He was a pretty good fighter and a bloody good investigator—still, he thought—and he was canny enough, but he wasn’t a military strategist. They’d left that to Dumbledore. And look where it had got them. Alastor, Minerva, and Kingsley had done most of the talking and deciding at the last meeting, but realistically, none of them could fill Dumbledore’s fancy boots. Christ, what a cockup. Damn Albus Dumbledore! “Alastor?” Alastor realised he had spoken aloud. “Ah, sorry. I was just thinkin’. Dumbledore didn’t prepare us for something like this. Stupid of all of us not to have a plan. I don’t know who’s going to lead the Order. Maybe Kingsley or Arthur. Not me, any road. I’m better in the trenches.” “Mum?” “No,” Alastor said quickly. “Not that she couldn’t do it, but she’s going to be Head of Hogwarts. Her focus will be here.” “Protecting the students,” Malcolm said. He rose, went over to the window, and gazed out at the grounds, the early evening light slanting through the window illuminating his face. In the light, Alastor thought, he resembled Dumbledore more than Minerva. Malcolm turned back to Alastor. “Don’t say anything to the children yet, but Eliane and I have been talking about my coming back here for a while.” Alastor’s belly gave a hitch. “You’re daft. It isn’t safe,” he said. He struggled out of the chair and stumped over to Malcolm. “Trust me, it’s only going to get worse. You won’t want them anywhere near Britain.” “I know that. They wouldn’t be coming with me. But I’m not doing much good in Paris. A few of the Conseil have been listening to us, but most of them aren’t going to believe You-Know-Who is a threat to France until he marches down the Champs Élysées leading a pack of goose-stepping Inferi behind him. If I’m here, I can fight. I can help the Order.” “You’re not a fighter, Malcolm.” “I’m still a decent duellist. And my special talents could be put to good use.” To emphasize his point, he wavered out of focus and Disappeared. Malcolm’s voice came out of the æther. “You said some of the Death Eaters could see behind invisibility cloaks.” “Yeah. I can do it too, when I concentrate,” said Alastor. The sound of Malcolm’s disembodied voice made the hairs rise on the back of Alastor’s neck. “Concentrate now. Can you see me?” Alastor focussed both eyes on the space where the voice had come from. “Nothing. Not even a shimmer.” There was a sound behind Alastor, and he whipped around, wand drawn. Malcolm was standing close behind him. “Easy, there,” he said. “Jaysus, boyo. You almost got yer nose hexed off.” “Sorry to startle you. But you see how I could be useful to the Order.” Alastor gave a grudging nod. He said, “Yer mum won’t be happy to have you in the thick o’ things. It’ll be one more thing for her to worry about.” “I know. But I have to do this.” Alastor peered at him. “What?” said Malcolm. “You’re just like her, you know.” “Is that a bad thing?” “On the contrary. But it’s not exactly a safe thing. Not too reassuring for the people who love you.” “I know.” Malcolm put a hand on Alastor’s shoulder. “But it’s war. Nothing’s safe.” “No. It isn’t.” Suddenly exhausted, Alastor limped over to the settee near the fireplace and dropped onto it. “Tomorrow’s going to be a long day,” Malcolm said. “Yup.” Alastor massaged his bad leg. “Before I leave you to get some rest, I should tell you, though. There’s one little hitch about me coming over here,” Malcolm said. There was a brief pause before he said, “Max has it too. The Invisibility trait.” Alastor looked up sharply. Malcolm nodded. “It showed up just after Easter. He’d got into a scrape with some of his mates at school, and Madame Maxime was giving him hell. She said she nearly fainted when he just …” Malcolm snapped his fingers. Alastor barked a laugh. “I’d like to have seen that.” Malcolm grinned. “Me too.” “How long did it take him to get back?” “A few hours. Madame Maxime owled me immediately, and I was able to talk him back, just like Albus did with me. It hasn’t happened again, but I haven’t really had the chance to work with him on it.” “Was he scared?” “He says not. We’ve talked to the kids about me, so he knew right away what was happening.” Alastor stood up. leaning heavily on his stick. “You’ve got to be firm with him, now. No using it for pranks or tricks. It’s too dangerous.” “I know, I know. We’ve had a serious talk. I was hoping you could reinforce it a little while we’re here. I plan to work with him as soon as we get home, but in case it takes a while to get things under his control …” “You don’t want to leave him.” “Exactly.” “Then don’t.” Malcolm started to argue, but Alastor held up a hand to stop him. “Look, I’m not tellin’ you what to do. I’m just sayin’ don’t rush to decide. The war’s going to be here, I’m sorry to say, for the foreseeable future. There’ll be plenty of chances for you to fight it once you’ve tended to your boy. He’s a canny kid. He’ll catch on quick enough, then you can come. If you think you have to.” Malcolm smiled. “You always make me feel better about things, Alastor.” “Oh, sure, that’s the effect I tend to have on people.” “You do,” Malcolm insisted. “You’re the only one, then.” “I don’t think so. I’m really glad Mum has you.” Malcolm’s words flushed Alastor through with warmth that had nothing to do with the tea or the crackling fire in Minerva’s grate. Going soft. He took out his handkerchief and wiped his nose. “Get on with you” he said. “Dinner’s going to be soon, and you need a bath. Lots of Ministry hoi polloi’ll be there tonight.” “Sure, Alastor.” ~oOo~ Alastor sat with Malcolm and his family at the funeral. They’d had breakfast together in Minerva’s quarters while she went to the Great Hall with the staff, students, and other visitors to the castle. He’d waited up for her the previous night—she hadn’t come in until a quarter of two, and she’d risen before six. Alastor intended to see that once this circus was over, she got some real rest. He watched her as she led her House to their seats in a section near the front and took her place in the first row alongside Rufus. Alastor’s magical eye spun in his head to scan the crowd. He’d rather have been with the cadre of Aurors on the perimeter, keeping an eye on things, but he reckoned his place was there, beside Malcolm, as they buried his father. Alastor’s eye fixed on the Potter boy, who’d sat in the last row of Gryffindors. Merlin only knew what was going through his head. Minerva was worried about him. He’d refused to tell her what he and Dumbledore had been doing before Dumbledore’s death, and she was very much afraid that the boy intended to attempt to find Voldemort alone. Alastor reckoned the Granger girl would go with him, and Ronald Weasley too, if he could get away from Molly. When Hagrid laid Dumbledore’s body on the plinth, Alastor glanced at Malcolm. Malcolm’s eyes were dry, though his jaw was set in a way that told Alastor that he was keeping a tight rein on his emotions. Alastor was among the few present who was prepared for the flames that sealed Dumbledore into his white marble tomb. At the last meeting, the Order had decided that a small but symbolic show of the Order’s magical power wouldn’t go amiss at the ceremony, and unanimously elected Minerva to do the deed. Alastor had worried about her in the moment—afraid not that she couldn’t manage the complex spell to form and close the tomb, but that it would take too much out of her to do it. She’d loved the old man, and asking her to be the person to forever seal his corpse into the sarcophagus was cruel, he thought. But he’d had to agree that a show of might from the new Head of Hogwarts was a good idea. Sure, a lot of folks wouldn’t recognize the complexity of the magic involved, but the ones who mattered—the Ministry folks and any of Voldemort’s secret followers in the crowd—would understand. Minerva McGonagall was a powerful witch, and anyone who tried to fuck with Hogwarts or any of her inhabitants would do so at their peril. Alastor smiled at the collective gasp when the flames engulfed the old wizard’s body. Minerva remained seated when casting the spell, but Rufus could not have missed the message. Alastor was surprised, however, at the armed salute from the centaurs. The arrows landed pointedly next to where the Parkinson, Bulstrode, and Crabbe families were sitting in the little area reserved for significant donors to the school. He wondered when Minerva had found time to go into the forest to talk to them. He knew she still had lots to do after the funeral—there were the children to see safely onto the Hogwarts Express and the many visitors to the castle to be politely invited to leave—so he and Malcolm returned to Minerva’s sitting room while Eliane took the children for a walk around the grounds in the early summer sun. “That was quite a show,” Malcom said as Alastor heated the teapot with his wand. “It was. I don’t know how yer mother arranged it all so fast, but she pulled it off.” “I’m sure she’s exhausted. I hope she gets a chance to get off her feet soon.” “Me too, but it’s not bloody likely, what with the school in chaos and worryin’ about protectin’ Potter.” “The one who’s supposed to be able to defeat You-Know-Who,” Malcolm said. “Right. Minerva’s in a state because she thinks he isn’t coming back to Hogwarts after the summer.” “What do you think?” “I think she’s right. I wouldn’t come back if I were him. Better if Lord Snakehead has no idea where he is. Besides, yer mother thinks Dumbledore set Potter on some mission.” “What kind of mission?” “No idea. Dumbledore wouldn’t tell her anything, and if he didn’t tell her, odds are he didn’t tell anyone. Certainly not me. Bloody, buggery fool that he was.” “I see,” Malcolm said quietly. “Shite, I’m sorry. I forgot for a minute that he was yer dad. I shouldn’t speak ill of him to you.” “It’s all right. I loved him in a way, but he wasn’t exactly a dad to me.” “As close as you had.” Malcolm looked at him, cocking his head queerly. “Alastor, you are the closest to a father I ever had. Don’t you know that?” The words hit Alastor in the chest with the strength of a Stunner. A lovely, shocking Stunner that flooded him with warmth and made the tears jump into his eyes. “Sure, yeah,” Alastor said, turning away from Malcolm, afraid he’d give away too much of his feeling. Malcolm put a hand on his arm. “Alastor—” Alastor turned. “I wasn’t exactly around all the time, was I?” “You were around when you could be.” “Dumbledore was here, teachin’ you things I could never have done.” “He taught me esoteric magic. You taught me things he never did–maybe never could. You taught me to be a man. You made me feel safe and loved. I felt like my mother was safe and loved when she was with you.” A trembling Alastor made his way over to the settee and leant on it, overcome. Malcolm followed, saying, “Whenever I’m having a problem with one of the kids, I ask myself, ‘What would Alastor do?’ Not, ‘What would Albus Dumbledore do?’ Because the father I want to be is the one you showed me how to be.” Alastor turned to look at him, his tongue paralysed by the strength of his love for this young man and by his own stupidity. All this time. All this time, Alastor had been jealous of Dumbldore for having something he didn’t. When it was his, Alastor’s, the whole time. Malcolm said, “I thought … I thought that you felt the same … that you and I were as good as family.” “Oh, Malcolm, you’ve no idea how much …” But he couldn’t finish before the tears overcame him. Malcolm pulled him into his arms, and when they broke the embrace, Alastor saw that there were tears on Malcolm’s cheeks too. “A couple of right girls we are, cryin’ over our tea,” Alastor said. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his eyes, then offered it to Malcolm, who took it and did the same. The looked at one another for moment, then both broke out laughing. Oh, but it was good to laugh! Alastor was filled with light and hope and all sorts of emotions that he’d always made fun of but secretly desired more than anything. It was a lark, all this coming to Alastor Brendan Moody—Minerva, Malcolm and his family—and Alastor, ruddy top Auror that he was, only just figuring it out now. He told himself, By Jaysus, I’m going to enjoy it, Dark Lord or no. ← Back to Chapter 44 On to Chapter 46 → Category:Blog posts Category:Chapters of A Slant-Told Tale